


Hounds of Buckingham

by evilwearsabow



Series: Princes Park [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Royal wedding, Agent!bond, Asexual Character, Fluff, M/M, Mystery, Pre-Established Relationship, Prince!Q, Royalty AU, Wedding, happy endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-08-27 03:36:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8385652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilwearsabow/pseuds/evilwearsabow
Summary: "We are gathered here today..."-You don't have to read my fic before this one, but this a short sequel to "princes' park."-There will be more to come.





	1. Today

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My girlfriend Brenda](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+girlfriend+Brenda).



He felt so stiff, dark and stuffy in this thing. His Royal attire, clinging to his skin in the way a suit never did. He arranges his sleeves, the scarlet red and gold. Laced with ornaments and royal decor.   
His mum came to him, holding his face, kissing his cheek. 

  
_I'm happy for you, so proud of how grown you've become. How mature you are... your father, would have been here regardless, would even have been proud of the son he never really knew._

  
Quincy sighed, feeling a warm shiver of nerves that tingled through his white gloved finger tips. And the cathedral room, all elegant and spacious made him the most anxious he'd ever been.

  
_You were made for eachhother; stubborn know it all sods who enjoy going to bed at a reasonable hour as you watch BBC..._

Sherlock explained, messing up his hair in jovial spunky behavior that proved his fair mood. 

  
It reminds him of the day that Bond got down on concrete and slid his mothers ring right onto Q's slender finger.  
Or that's sort of how it went.  
But he does remember the feeling of it all. Their love had only grown, a sailing yacht in The Mediterranean only firming his beliefs. They got along splendidly, fishing, swimming, napping and boy the sex was incredible.

Best not go into those thoughts right now...

  
John fixed his hair, straightened him out again.

  
_Don't listen to the naysayers, the idiots in life who just can't understand. What really matters is what you have between each other._

  
The music began and everyone else was a blur. The fact that he was going to have this moment, like any other couple, any other legend to walk these carpets. His future husband stood ahead.

  
Navy commander attire, well cut, delicious navy blue and hat at his side included. Q's ivory and gold cape that flowed far to the ground elegantly draped behind him as he lead on on cue.  
Contact lenses were an eyesore, but James was his own visual piece of heaven.


	2. Good Morning

It seemed the palace was abuzz with joy as Q was to be wed this very day. So many paid him complements, many showered him with congratulations. 

But this morning was to be spent with Mary with a stylist, a tailor, a nice pedicure and some breakfast to start.

He's scrambling into simple street clothes with excitement. Nearly having a heart attack when confronted with with one silver azure gaze that takes his breath away.

No matter how many times he'd see them, this one always managed to inspire a sort of musical talent to his bodily functions.

"James..."

Sooner than not he's pinned against his own closed bedroom door. James attacking his mouth with passionate furry that leaves him wanton, desiring more.

Instead he's stopped breathless, barely able to suppress a whimper. Biting his lower lip in tandem, shuddering.

"Y-you..." arranging his glasses on his face. "You do realize that this is completely bad luck... yes?"

Unable to function, let alone retaliate.

"I had an idea, yes." James murmurs into his lips, breath and taste, tantalizing.

Pulling him in so completely, he becomes lost in his seduction.

"James..." He meant to sound more scolding than desperate.

"Superstitious little minx." A low humming chuckle.

This time, a hand was placed under his chin. A kiss placed gently on sensitive lips, tasting into his mouth with ferocity Q hadn't felt since he left for two months and came back.

"James, youre the devil..."

"Does that mean you speak of me? Hmm?" Playful and still somehow elegant in his tactics. Receiving all the right reactions from his younger lover.

"Heaven forbid; and to think... we'll be married in a church under God himself and you're still a puddle for me...Darling." Bond teases, pressing a kiss to the underside of his chin.

Q, having had enough of his own brand of torture. Moves his rook, wraps his hands around to grip one firm, round, arse.

Pleased as punch when he feels his lovers ever growing erection, jump against his groin. A sassy side look, is all the fuel James needs for his fire.

"Whatever made you so anxious?" Bond wonders,  he does every day. How did he ever get so lucky?

"When your as much trouble as I, you tend to get instinctive in certain... climates."

"I see, survival of the wittiest, suppose I'll put a pence in my shoe."

Q thwacked his chest, Playful and is then abruptly pushed harder back into the door. He keens, moaning a bit louder than he had before. 

A cherry serenade begins to flourish on the apples of his cheeks.

"James..." He can't help but respond in this way. So tender and ardent, unable to give him 100% shit storm today. Their wedding day, the day he gets to take this man at arm and show his sincerity. 

Its surprising really, after being rudely outed and dealing with all kinds of awful sorts. Now he can marry the man he loves, and no one can be his judge.

Then again, England was in love with the man. Commander Bond appealed to conservatives in his own way, and to most others in the form of attractiveness and smooth, genuine conversations.

Something he's well aware of now, as he can't bear the idea of parting from him right now.

Its silent magnetism, as if both of the men were thinking of similar things. Pulling into one another for another long and languid kiss.

Bond stops, chuckles, he side eyes but doesn't turn his head. "Mary is here, darling." Gently pulling away from he hazy eyed Prince as he adjusts his jacket smoothly.

"How the hell does he do that?" Mary asked in surprised silent wonder, quite further behind to two gits. 

Q feels as if he's coming back up from a warm bath. "Ah, that, would be what I ask myself every day." Can't help being smitten, even when Mary swats him one and after grabbing his arm; leads the way.  

Bond had already gotten his hair cut, and was bathed and clean shaven as he most usually was. He slips into the dressing room assigned in the palace for the groom and his entourage. Nearly pulling a gun that wasn't there, when a voice he didn't expect stunned him from behind.

"Lovely morning isn't it?"

Sherlock, who is sitting on--- is that a bookshelf? Slipped down, brushing the dust off his dark brown trousers. 

"You shouldn't do that, you know." Bond warns darkly, straightening out his old shirt as if it were a bespoke suit. It wasn't unlike the Holmes brother to add up with the trickery. But, he should know that Bond is prone to premature defensive measures. Ran in his blood as much as it was his former job. Sometimes he felt empty and bored, unable to work for queen and country any longer. Nor would he go out and find another dangerous job, he had almost lost Q in numerous of ways; he wasn't going to risk it ever again.

So here is the former 007, former security agent, former commander, working a glorified desk position.

So he was the direct line between Queen and Prime Minister when it came to national defense. But, it wasn't the thrill of a mission or espionage... and then sometimes James had to count his blessings. His right knee wasn't the same any more, his hair had gone a bit greyer in certain areas, and the worn edges of his face and scars had grown deeper and darker with age.

When he see's his face in the overly sized mirror beside him, he takes a quiet second to wonder how the hell he kept a man like Quincy. An overwhelming sense of despair settles in his stomach, and he's thankful for his ability to conceal this. Sherlock however, in these fast few seconds seems to keep a curious gaze on Bond. The both of them, having slipped into mutual silence.

"Well, I just wanted to see what you would do. Rather it be I than my little brother, you do seem rather intent on hurting him, you know?"

The burn was flagrant, James felt his pride get first blood; but he doesn't rise to the bait. In fact, he's going to try his hardest to keep a low profile with the rest of the royal family.

"Well, I'll keep an open mind on that."

Which he means, truly, his late nights waking in cold sweats over violence in his minds eye, in his dreams, have made it increasingly clear that Quincy's safety is his number one priority. So, despite all of the screaming 'hell no's' in his head. James actually sought a therapist for his PTSD, giving his coping techniques he never thought he'd ever need to use. Hell, he never thought he'd be sleeping with someone for more than one night let alone for the rest of his life.

Sherlock, surprised by the response, made an interested humming noise. "So, maybe this isn't the best time. But we don't have much... not really." Sherlock looks to Bond with an odd sort of look, immediately unnerving the former-agent. He pulls out his cellphone, and begins to type, but instead of pressing send;

 

_There are bugs in the palace, I didn't find cameras, we cannot trust anyone, and I need your help._

 

James' eyes go wide, then relax immediately. He nods, grabbing the cellphone to respond. 

 

_Is there a safe place to talk? What is the perimeter? What about six?_

 

Sherlock frowns, and shakes his head. 

 

_Sadly, the leak I found was on the cloud of 6's server. It could be an open ended hack, but it is unlikely._

 

What? Bond takes the phone back, typing furiously in response. 

 

_Alec? He's the mole?  Is Quincy safe?_

 

Sherlock nods, quickly, and returns with evidence. By slipping Q's cellphone into Jame's hand as if handing him a business card. 

 

_This phone had the tracker, of course, that the agency gave us for the palace security, I swapped his phone with a decoy that will only let him dial for emergencies or your direct line. It also has a tracking device, set up to, you guessed it: your phone alone. I'm trusting you with my brothers life, seven, don't muck it up._

 

 Frankly, James can barely believe it and if it weren't for  the specific and serious look on the detectives face he wouldn't be able to. 

So without further to do, James accepts this response.

_We need somewhere safe to talk._

_Agreed._

Somehow, even between an agent and a genius the only room they could trust was a tiny supply closet located between two guest bedrooms and Sherlock's designated guest room. Cramped up in this ridiculous space, James takes a huff of incredulous air realizing this predicament and taking it in as they go. 

"How did you find this lead?"

"Well, I'm always searching for some kind of cyberspace with an opening; who would have expected Alec to be a mole and his laptop to make a breach?" Rolling his eyes, but it would be too dark to see. Instead, he continues on for explanation.

"I found an old guest room broken into, it used to be held for a duchess but she is long dead. So my mum had it cleaned, covered and locked away; no one would have noticed if it weren't for the three small brown scuffs against the door. Someone had used a small and discreet screw driver to unhinge the door..."

"Did you go inside?"

"No. Of course I didn't go inside, are you blubbering mad? I haven't even had breakfast and a cup of tea yet... besides you know as well as I do; tampering with evidence before I can get a witness is probably not the best idea."

"Ah, so you got me here because you trust me enough that you know I wouldn't hurt Q. And, you also know I'm a former agent, which makes me the best candidate for royal sidekick?" Droning it off, a little bored about it. Then again, he's seriously concerned for his Q, if someone is out for his life... if anything happens to him.

"Yep." Sherlock pops his 'p' with a twist of a grin to end the note. "Former-Royal sidekick."

"Indubitably."

"Right, so, food and then we go for a peek?"

"Quick bite, then yes, sounds goo---"

The door opens, the light flicks on and there's a naked john, with his hand cupping his bullocks. He's sopping wet, and he shrieks out at the sight, opening his mouth to say something and then closing it. The utter confusion and lost disposition in tow, Sherlock tilts his head a bit cheekily to try and get a peek underneath the pair of hands. As Bond shakes his head, sighing in disbelief. Pulling a crisp clean towel from behind him towards the gobsmacked bloke before them.

"S-sherlock?"

"Well perfect, looks like we have a doctor now."

"Sherlock."

A warning note he was all too familiar with.

"Come along pumpkin, we have to tell you how we're going to unlock the old bedroom in quarterly."

"But-wha-excuse me? Why are you both--"

Sherlock hears footsteps, he pulls the wet husband of his into the room and pulls the closet door shut.

"Good, now we can have a proper conversation." Sherlock says with a sigh, an air of haughtiness when /again./ the closet door opens.

Matilda, the elderly palace maid stops in her tracks, three men, one naked, one the current groomsman and all a bit shocked. They're quietly looking at one another, and she just stands there stammering in one place.

"J-just, excuse me sirs, I er, just needed the towels for--"

Again, James is on it. Pulling a hefty stack from behind him and handing them to the woman. Some sort of acrobatics especially in the awkwardness that follows.

Then, John shuts the door; he doesn't know why he's going along with this bullshit. But then again, he went along with it on his own rather precarious wedding day. So he'll just, go with it.

"Why are we in here again?"


	3. Good Breakfast

It's an awkwardly silent bit of breakfast, they haven't much time before the wedding. Even though it was early and they'd managed to figure out what they did in such short time. James felt that urge again, to protect and hold Q in his arms, especially after one long texted conversation about a 'broken' cell phone. He figures telling Q that there's something wrong would be a bad thing. Not that he doesn't trust the man, or feel that there would be harsh repercussions but there was a protocol for this in the service. With a mole problem, James would initially have had the palace evacuated and client a full-scale investigation. But, seeing as with a few looks through Q's laptop that it was A, an inside job and B, likely something petty. James was more than absolutely on the case, and was starting to type his way into his other security details servers.

"Seriously, out of all places." John grumbles.

They picked a small cafe nearby, a little expensive but they weren't the picky sorts.

"And how the hell did you even go about nicking Q's computer?" More complaining from the shortest of the two, scratching the back of his head in exasperation. "He didn't sleep with James last night, which meant 1, no awkward run ins and 2, no former-agents to put a gun to my cheek." Sherlock quipped back, sipping tea with this awkward seated position. Knees together, shoulders a bit tense and a very monotonous voice.

"So, on an off day, you steal Q's things?" Sounding angrier, John persists as he hashes out clotted cream over a scone.

"Oh, no, that would be downright idiotic. No." Shaking his head, looking distantly. "I just needed to use his, because ours has a virus and to be honest. Thought it would be a cheeky idea to delete all the porn off his hard drive. Little wedding day present."

"You mean the woodblock kabuki artwork?" Bond interrupts, he's scrolling through lines of code; Carefully. Making sure everyone was clear as crystal, and cleaner than the desktop of Quincy's computer.

"You've seen it?" Sherlock gawks, surprised.

Bond's left brow raises just a smidgen, there's something underlying cocky and Sherlock instantly pales. Slipping his cup to the table with a gentle clatter of porcelain.

"Never mind. Well, anything that sticks out then?" Sherlock begins, but John is still not done interrogating.

"How did you manage to get through his passwords?" 

"Come on now, are you so blind? What's the password to your own laptop?" Sherlock finally leans back, pressing his hands in a pyramid. Fingertips to fingertips, and a cheeky smirk.

"..." Now the detectives husband looks admonished, face a proper scarlet as he goes about smearing jam over the other half of his treat even faster.

"So, it narrows it quite a bit."

James, while wanting to somewhat correct Sherlock, knows its right. The agent, is 99% sure he's seen Sherlock watching Q open his laptop over shoulder and watched him type. With the genius of the Holmes boys, one look of hand stroke and Sherlock would have the pass-code; that, he was sure of.

John rubs at his eyes, tired and absolutely stressed.

"So you managed that, but you don't know a line of code?" He remarks, still shocked with this knowledge as if he hadn't known it all along.

"No, no, I saw a weird pop up on his desktop-- yes not a browser or anything but it seems like he was running a virus scan. Started it the night prior, and whatever it was... I knew it had to belong to the web camera on the system."

James knew that much, this explanation seemed to placate the doctor and a genuine silence rolled over the room as the sun rose and the sky went from dull dark grey, to a pale blue.

"Oh I have such a migraine."

"Now look who's being a drama queen?"

"I am not!" John stops immediately, realizing he raised his voice a fair bit much. Then uncomfortably looks around, tone lowering and still scathing. "I am not a bloody drama queen. You, are a right bastard for starting trouble in the first place." Pointing his finger into the table, they begin to bicker again, when James decides to text Q again.

 

To:Q

From:J 

How is the pampering?

 

To:J 

From:Q

Silly, have you ever had a mud mask? 

 

To:Q

From:J

No, but I hear they're quite refreshing

 

To:J

From:Q

Quite, are you behaving yourself?

 

To:Q

From:J

No, why would I be? 

 

To:J

From:Q

Lol, I'll bbl you idiot, Mary is giving me the eye! 

 

To:Q

From:J

Love you too.

So he's alright, and that mollified the former agent into silence that he spent rolling over the evidence they had. The couple before him, argued and sure it was on topic but it definitely muddled the full picture. "We'll need Sherlock to be on duty at the wedding. John, I'll have you video taping at the side..." Then cocking his head. "I should be able to sneak in a side arm."

Sherlock looks baffled, and John inquisitive; the two of them were stunned silent by the stern outburst of their soon-to-be brother in law.

"I think I'll be able to manage." Says the middle Holmes, straightening out his jacket before finishing his cuppa.

"Are you sure about this?" John asks leaning in again, naturally concerned.

James looks over all the options in his arsenal, truly he didn't know what to think. He bloody well knew not to trust the government, and quite honestly who would believe him otherwise? Sure some would take him seriously, but then if it were to be given full regard the wedding could be cancelled and this so-called attacker would just have another opportunity. 

"No." He says softly, "But this is our best option."

John takes a deep breath, rubbing his sore eyes. "Right then, now, what the hell are we to expect? We don't even know what's going to happen..."

"Seems like we have a room to explore, right?" Sherlock stands to button his jacket, and the other two follow diligently. Although its not long before all of them trail behind James. Nothing as English as 3 blokes having a cuppa before a crises, right?

Despite the break, the three of them spent no time at all removing the door from its hinges while Bond was on the cell phone with John. Whom, was at a safer distance besides Sherlock of course.

"It seems in conspicuous enough." James said, the smartphone pressed into his shoulder. It was rather satisfying, getting to sneak around and take things apart. He raises his gun up, the professional in his element to keep the nozzle safely away from anyone who may be just a bystander.

The room was obviously facing repairs, with carpet pulled and walls stripped, half painted. He sticks close to the walls, searching inside them for good measure slowly and carefully. "Not a creature stirring." James says again to the sound of heavy breathing in the speaker.

John sounds relieved, "Good, now anything else out of place?"

"Besides the whole bloody room?"

John makes a disgruntled noise. "Don't be a smart arse..."

He turns to keep searching the rather spacious room, on the very right was a tarp covered loveseat and a ladder. A can of paint, and then he noticed something sticking out of the couch.

"Something tells me, I've found what we're looking for." James refuses to move it, but lifting the tarp  a smidgen he can see a black square outlining sticking haphazardly out from underneath a cushion.

"Laptop."

"Don't move it!" Sherlock shouts, loud enough that James winces and pulls his head a tad away from the speaker.

"Quiet down." He hisses lowly. "The two of you practically have spots..." An after thought as he withdraws his Swiss-army knife. Or at least, it had the makings and trappings of one, but there was more to it. He slips the device into the usb port, and waits. "Sherlock, you've got the program on Q's laptop..."

"Yes, It is running... anything else out of the norm?"

"Nothing I can see immediately without running the risk of blowing cover." He explains, looking around the room diligently.

"Good, well I have enough of a puzzle on this for a week. Best get out now while we can."

James gives one final look before turning around, only to see that on the door he extracted from the room, the back end had something taped to its surface. The writing on it lie in scribbled red, almost unintelligible.

"I'll... have to call you back in a moment." James replies to bickering, uncaring about the answer as he presses hang up and flips the phone over to take a proper picture. After taking the device, he re-hinges the doors and stashes his tools under his jacket; something is wrong and he's figured out part of the puzzle.

 

"Alec isn't apart of this." James says to the two of them, just as soon as he's in their room. Noting that the room was taken apart in search for bugs, and none were there. A safe place for discussion.

"How can you be so sure?" John asks, peeking over Sherlock's shoulder curiously.

"Six wouldn't be this disorganized."

Sherlock intones, then shares a side eye glance with James who nods slowly.

"Alec and I have been in the field together, he's a loose canon at times... but he isn't stupid." James walks over to watch the screen as well in tandem. Then John takes this time to speak up. "So we have Q's laptop, the information off of the other, a solid alibi for Q, and one marked innocent on the ledger..."

"Innocent is putting it a bit too heavy..." James murmurs. 

"But you just said..."

"Yes, he did, but it doesn't rule him out from involvement. Just that he isn't leading the operation..."  Sherlock intones, and John looks like he's about to implode with the monotonous driveling.

"Which could be a good, or a bad thing." A pondering agent, begins to pace a little.

"...and calls into question one thing, can you trust him? Or would he bust the entire operation?" John says, watching the both with bafflement.

Sherlock smiled, that wicked sort. "Only one way to find out."

John looks horrified, but James is just getting started.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay, also, I realized it cut off half of my chapter when I initially posted. So I am sorry about that! It is fixed now! thanks for the patience. Please let me know how you feel about this, I'm trying a different genre!


	4. Another Hour

"I want these exits, this hallway, fresh eyes and more than 1 in each direction. Heavy on the carriage, on these three balconies, and then..." Alec's biting his lower lip, mapping out directions on the iPad. He was placed in charge of wedding security, and the honor, while a great one, was also a great responsibility that he certainly didn't take lightly. The security around him seemed to nod in tandem, everything seemed to flow smoothly. Walkies all worked, no extraordinary questions, bickering, or malfunctioning equipment of any kind. The lighting and even the backups all seemed in prime condition.

It was this reason alone that made Alec wary.

Or, it was until just a quarter till ten in the morning, did he get an unexpected call via work-cell. Oddly enough it carried the foreign caller-I.D of 'Unknown' a feature he'd turned off, so the capability baffled him. This made him reluctant to answer, and at the same time he couldn't let anything slip him on today of all days.

With a deeply pulled breath of air, 'Six' answers his phone and answers with a deep and stern voice.

"Hello." American, he knew most were surprised a former MI6 agent had such a distinctly American accent. Being born in England, didn't necessarily mean the whole posh sort of dialect most were prone to hearing.

A gravelly, sound-altered, voice responded; naturally this lead to a quickening of his heart rate.

"Alec."

Said the voice, which was even weirder, if it were his agency or the government, a code would have been announced beforehand and his code-name used. Instead, it was a third-party, which was the last thing Alec wanted to hear.

He doesn't answer at first, then with a mildly annoyed tone, "Well? Don't waste my time, you needed this number for something other than shoving your thumb up your own ass. Speak."

A chuckle, "You're talking rather big for a man who's plotting against the Queen and her son."

Dread, an overwhelming sense of dread and horror mix with terror and then that split second ability to think in the game. "Really, and you talk a lot for someone who seems to know what they're talking about."

"Is that so? My contacts seem to believe otherwise, maybe even think you're the perfect picture for a frame."

That, doesn't make him feel worse than the thought of something going down today, of all damn days!

"Well then they'd be out of their fuckin' minds. Framing me, would be a shot in the foot; hell a call like this is a damn shot in the foot. Who the hell is this?" Alec, despite his harsh language, manages to keep a low voice even if it didn't exude softness.

The tone goes out, and then there really isn't anyone on the line any more. His mind wanders, his face ghost white, he turns to go to the bathroom and nearly jumps (which is very much unlike him) at the sigh of James taking a whiz. Fuck, he lives here, why are you so surprised?

He washes his face with some cold water, slipping off his jacket.

"Being chief of all things really putting you under the weather?" Bond asked, zipping up, and joining beside him at the opposing sink.

Alec huffs, chuckling, "Hardly." A lie, but he was one of the few that could get away with such things around the other agent.

Bond, the portrait of carefree, actually forgone his official shirt and belt for the t-shirt he'd wear underneath it all and his trousers. "It's my big day and even I'm hardly jittery, not even like when I was with..." He doesn't even like to say her name, Alec knows exactly what he's talking about which grounds him. In fact, he just suddenly remembers that he could trust the hell out of James. James Bond who would rather die than harm the prince or the royal family.

"James... we need to talk." Alec says, letting a bit of urgency slip into his voice. Seven stills, then watches cautiously, until a soft smile pulls on his face with humor laced in; "Oh Alec, a love declaration on my wedding day? How stereotypical! Of all things, bloody..."

"For fuck sakes, no, Jesus Christ, ew, no!" Alec hisses, making a face that spurs on James' laughter. "Oh shut it, you weren't making that face with my cock up your arse."

"Oh. My God." Alec says covering his face with an open hand, the stress is out of the bag now and honestly he hates James for this. "I never want to hear that again after your vows are fucking said, got it?"

His best friend was laughing his ass off, so he started to laugh as well which sort of relaxed him but still came out nervous.

"James, seriously."

"Alright, noted, go on then..."

"Listen, I'd go up higher, I'd ask the queen herself, or even the agency but..." Shaking his head, "Somethings wrong, James, someones plotting and I don't know who else to trust...but you. I don't know who is doing this, but I just got the fucking strangest call on the agency phone line..." Looking distraught for a moment, then, he gives him a solid look in the eye.

James goes still, deathlike, unmoving and it was like watching a snake rise from hiding as slowly but surely a smile pulls on his face.

"Gentlemen."

The bathroom door, old and heavy, opened with a creak and two other distinct heads popped in. 

"Innocent, I'd say..." He turns and Alec realizes what just happened and then has to calm himself down. He can't give James a black eye, or scar his face cause the wedding but...

Instead, he fists forward for a harsh jab to the other agent's shoulder for an awe inspiring sucker punch that startles all the men in the room.

It knocks the wind out of the elder man, who gasps, and looks miffed out at the order of things.

"That, is for scaring me so fucking badly I nearly shit myself!"

What started as nervousness, rolled into slow climbing laughter.

"Seriously though, why the hell would you joke about this?"

"It's actually not a joke..." Sherlock explains carefully, John opens the door all the way. "Come on then, we've not much time and a wedding to save..."

Bond had just finished a coughing fit, rubbing at his stomach with a winded look. He deserved it, but, it was worth the knowledge.

 


	5. Til the End

"I do."

"I do."

**"Gun!"**

A voice calls, and it wasn't James', or the priest, or the Queen for that matter.

It's as if it went terribly and viciously slow, pulling apart time and space itself as the Prince turns in shock towards the location of the shout.

His mind went painfully blank, and he hated that. Despised how his pruned and carefully created mind could switch just when he desired it not to.

The sound of a bullet, so loud it rattled his ear drums. As his agent and lover wraps solid arms around him to protect and lower him to the ground. A blink of an eye was all it took.Q gasping in shock of it all, trembling to the ground and not certain as the sight of blood and the smell of its coppery essence destroys his expensive cologne.

Whats happening? 

James isn't with him any more and he's on the ground somewhere and he's zoning out into the high old church ceilings.

They knocked James Bond in the shoulder with a bullet. 

Everyone in the room was screaming and clamoring. Hiding, and James with his perfect shot nailed one assailant square in the chest, and another by the exit in the temple of his skull. Seemingly effortless, steady despite the broiling rage. 

In opposite to Q, he managed to react lightening quick. Place him on the ground as John rushed behind right at the sight of blood. 

Its James' blood.

Ignores it for the pull of his own trigger, not running but quickly walking his way towards the man who bolted out the cathedral doors.Screaming persisted, as James watched news vans and reporter parties flummox and scatter with the sound of screams to pave the way for his spree. He has the higher ground, he pulls, he shoots, the third assailant lands on concrete with a painful sounding thud to match the bullet in his thigh.

Bond reloads, holds his gun down away from any crowd. Walks to the assailant to disarm him, then pin the whimpering prig until the authorities could manage the rest.

Interestingly enough, they were there within seconds; Alec had made sure to arrest anyone else with suspicious behavior. The medics arrived quickly, they were pretty much already there. Having been held close by for just-in-case and protocol of course. 

And when he sees Q being wheeled over into the car with a soft grey blanket wrapped around him. He immediately ignores all else as officers tape off the area.

"Quincy..." He says with worry, the medic reluctantly lets him on through. James is on his husband with big, strong, hands to his face. 

Staring into his lovers glazed over eyes, big olive orbs that widen at the sight of him. "J-James..." when a hand lifts to his arm. "Your bleeding...Darling."

"He's what?" A tech asks, Bond shrugs.

"Bullet skimmed off my shoulder here... ruined my bloody uniform." He tuts, as if he got a paper cut nowhere special.

Q starts to shake, to which the older man tries to  "Darling, Q, Quincy... it's going to be alright." He promises, a shudder rolling right through him at the touch.

"Let's stitch you up then, Mr. Bond." Said the other tech, but James couldn't take his hands or eyes off his new husband. 

"Mr. Holmes-Bond, now, if you will." He says while looking right into Q like it was all he could think of. Well, it was, and to see him just in shock and not in any harms way? Legions above the rest, this feeling and then again not as good as seeing him say 'yes'; yes he wanted this old man for the rest of his life until death and that was better than any wedding party.

They're wrestling with his jacket, belt, shirt as he refuses to let go of Q's hand and for some reason there is sympathy there. Knowing the two had just tied the knot and now spend their honey moon inside an ambulance.

They stitch him, prod him, check things, whatever. It doesn't matter, Q falls asleep due to mild sedatives and James is keen on touching his hand.

When Q wakes it is in his own bed... their bed, he thinks with foggy vision and he sits upright far too quickly. Groaning, holding his head, as dizziness pursues with anxiety.

"J-James?" He croaks, voice crippled with disuse. The sound of bickering in the distance, rustling of fabric, but no distinct sound of James. All he can remember is the smell of him, hospital, of his...his blood.

Crimson and wet in his hands full of uniform wool. "S-shit- James. No. James..." He couldn't remember much else, as his brain swims to surface and he's going to start crying. He is, oh, he is crying and its like nothing he'd ever felt before. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Bloody--"

"Darling."

Like a drop of a saucer, and that voice; that gorgeous baritone laced in Scotland and sex.

"James?"

"Bloody..." Seven says, strolling quickly over to his side tucking Q's glasses onto his face. Sweetly, kissing his temple, and chasing each tear away with thick fingertips. "Q, it's alright. Everything is going to be fine... darling it's all over."

"You're safe, but blood, I thought I saw..."

"Tis merely a flesh wound." James hums into his neck, pressing tiny little kisses there. "Shit. Oh--"

"Mhm, you were saying, m'love?"

"Don't stop..."

"I won't, your majesty."

"Oh gracious, no, don't even..."

"What so I'll become a sap now? Just because of our vows?"

"Don't you buggering start..."

"Fine, _husband_ , we'll go from _Downton Abbey_ to _Pride and Prejudice."_

"I rather _Shakespeare_..." Q murmurs, blithely.

"Shall I compare thee to a summers day?" 

His new, brainy little nerd of a husband groans aloud.

"Come off it, and kiss me some more..."

"Yes, of course, _Mercutio_." Bond replies, slipping his lips to a blustering Q who hates this weird novel reference and loves it all the same.

When Sherlock comes to open the door, he stops when John places a hand at his chest. Smiling cheekily, knowingly at the brunette who just didn't click with the nature of things, until John winks. Well, then, perhaps his times would be better spent elsewhere.

Oh to be a Holmes for the heart of blonde soldiers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little short! :D I hope you enjoyed, also, if you have any suggestions for what you all would like to see in the future! Let me know!


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